


(your world is so green; it's so, so green)

by mickleborger



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Andorians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickleborger/pseuds/mickleborger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Andorians, ignored on the whole by the canon, are angry.  The Bajorans, also, are angry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(your world is so green; it's so, so green)

**Author's Note:**

> This, uh, landed in the unfortunate in-between land of "fic or meta????"

You meet an Andorian and they're _angry_.  They don't tell you why, but they're angry.   _Violent_ , the Andorian ambassador says with a hint of bitterness in his voice and a smile spread just a little too thin, his cheeks hollow and his eyes sunken from being too far too long from Andor.   _Aggressive_ , others whisper, trying not to make eye contact with the diplomatic attache they don't realize is an imposter.

The Andorians have learned to put up with this because they saw the Federation be born and they have seen it grow for a hundred years now, forever a terrible cross between a desperate, war-broken people and the conniving Vulcan High Command.  The High Command is reformed now, of course, and the Terrans have grown strong and proud again; but the core ideals remain, and the core ideals do not hold the Andorians dear.  Too treacherous, the Andorians.  Too feisty, the Andorians.  Not particularly reliable, the Andorians.

(The Andorians whose sense of honor rivals the Klingons' and whose capacity for outrage outstrips it.)

At some point during the Occupation the Andorians, who most of many things love to talk, snap their mouths shut.  They grind their teeth and they do not take their eyes off those who speak for non-involvement and the Prime Directive.

(The Vulcans, at least, never came to Andor proper before the very end.  They could not tolerate the cold.)

The Andorians know that Bajor is not cold, and after years of being told to keep their tempers they finally grit their teeth and hush.  But their eyes do not blink.  Their gazes do not falter.  Those who speak on the Federation floor feel a cold sweat on their brows sometimes.

We listen to the Tellarites because they are pushy and because the Vulcans tell us they're trustworthy.  We listen to the Vulcans because it's the Vulcans who heaved us out of the mud.  We listen to the Klingons because they are large and loud, and frankly good company once you get down to it.  We listen to the Romulans because we fear what they might do.  We listen to the Cardassians because we know full well what they might do.

We do not listen to the people who spent sixty years showing us what the Cardassians might do.  We do not listen to the Bajorans, who are only here because we are the least dangerous gamble.  They are too volatile, the Bajorans.  Too temperamental, the Bajorans.  Not particularly frank, the Bajorans.

(An Andorian meets the eyes of a Bajoran across the meeting-hall of the Federation as a Klingon shouts in indignation on the floor.  Their jaws are clenched in exactly the same way.)

Eth'la Shran comes to visit Kira Nerys on a reclaimed mining station near a wormhole for the first time, returning the favor the Bajoran gives every time she visits Andor.  The station's angles are too sharp, the colors too dull.  There are shops and bars for brightness, but really the only thing that has spirit is the temple.  They stand together in front of it - warm where Andorian temples are cold, its colors muted where those of Andorian temples are sharp.  But Eth'la recognizes a stubborn pride in the shadows around the doorway and a very specific angle in the Bajorans' profiles.

Neither of them has spoken a word yet, though Andorians love talk.  It is not Eth'la's place to open the discussion.  But Eth'la's jaw is loose, and their gaze soft.

As the silence grows old Nerys turns to Eth'la, face unsmiling but still somehow open.  She holds out her hand.   _Welcome to the station, dear friend._

She leans in and whispers a word in Bajoran.


End file.
